As the month draws to a close, it’s time to reflect on the glory that is June: the dazzle of bright green leaves in the sun and warmth after a long winter, which in Western Massachusetts can have plenty of gas left in May. The palette of May includes the range of daffodil yellows, syringa lilac, the dull green of asparagus shoots, the electric green and red of male hummingbirds, and often the white of snow. All the more glory left to June.
The garden seems to peak in June, just as the heaviest work in the garden recedes and ticks over into maintenance until fall. Here in the foothills of the Berkshires we see the first blooms of summer in June—orange, the full magenta range, fifty shades of white—and the first full leaves on trees. In June we begin to dine on the lettuce, peas, scallions, and herbs we planted, fingers crossed, after the last frost (or in the case of asparagus, the bed we planted years before).
As the month wanes, the glamorous peonies are ruined—ripped down by heavy and much-needed rain. The lupine flowers are past, the furry fat seeds left waiting to disperse. Irises, so perfect in their sharp blue, are long gone, leaving the spears of leaves to point skyward. A few of the roses, which bloom first in June, are now in need of a thorough deadheading and another round of soap spray.
The garden doesn’t really peak in June—it’s an illusion conjured by winter-weary eyes—the plant succession continues. The bee balm has not bloomed yet, nor have the rudbeckia and Asiatic lilies. The tiger lilies are opening, so are the clematis vine blooms, and the drifts of milkweed, ready to host the Monarch caterpillars, rise above the rest of the grasses and clover in the field.
The garden is beautiful for the rest of the summer and into late fall, as are the hills that wrap around us. Butterflies arrived earlier in June, but soon the little gardens and field planted for pollinators will teem with them, vying with the moths, bees and hummingbirds for purchase on the tempting flowers. As they feed, the days will grow shorter, until the sad day arrives when we realize they’re all gone: hummingbirds, Swallowtail, Fritillary, Monarch butterflies, and their migratory avian comrades. As we put away the garden tools and deck furniture, our attention will turn to setting up the bird feeders (after the bears go to sleep) for our stalwart winter companions: juncos, chickadees, cardinals, titmice. Their colors and habits will entertain and intrigue us all winter, along with those of the deer and rarely, bobcats and foxes.
We will continue to revel in the glory that is June for the last two nights, when the lightening bugs offer love in blasts of light, under a starry sky or in the rain. June gives us hope in the little green tomatoes, flowering potato plants, the fuzzy little tops of carrots, miniature beets, parsnips and Brussel sprouts. The young fruit trees are covered with tiny cherries and apples. June is the sight of cucumbers, zucchini and pole beans growing before our eyes, like time-lapsed photographs, onward and upward. No terrible pestilence has befallen any of the vegetables yet, no critter has ravished them: it’s June.
Despite everything, will it be a good summer after all? Here, in June, it feels like one, as we sit on the deck overlooking the field, thinking of nothing, gazing at the glorious greens, absorbing the buzz and clicks of the hummingbirds, the perfect air, the rest of the world shut out—that is the glory that is June.
